Men in hard hats with saws
stood looking at my maple.
They had not come
to tell her how beautiful she was.
I have watched her
over a thousand morning cups of coffee
or while outside with my dog
as she grew where her nature naturally took her.
Now, there is a big piece of her missing
from her center, where the power lines run.
Their closeness was dangerous, I know,
especially in seasons of storm or snow.
I would have hated to see her
Blackened and burned, ruined and bent,
or my neighbors' cozy kitchens and dens
gone suddenly dark,
But it hurts my heart to see her this way,
split and altered for safety's sake.
My morning coffee tastes unfamiliarly bitter
as I think of how beautiful she was.